by R. L. Stine
But when you see a murder being investigated by real cops in a real murder scene, it’s a whole different feeling. It just makes you want to vomit.
I stopped and watched the cops working on the stage. The spotlight was still shining a circle of yellow light on the play backdrop. No one had turned it off.
I just couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of Rose with her eyes bulging, her body tangled in the ropes, and my scarf wrapped so tightly around her neck.
A figure came striding toward me. Mr. G, his eyes straight forward, his expression grim, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets.
“Hey, Mr. G. I—” I started.
But he walked right past me without slowing. “Can’t talk,” he murmured. He didn’t look back.
I turned the corner and stepped into my homeroom. Some kids were milling up at the front of the room. I took a seat in the back. I clasped my hands together and shut my eyes.
This is the longest, most horrible day of my life.
After a few minutes, I felt someone tap my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Miss Kellogg, the homeroom teacher. “Poppy, are you okay?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Can you back up time a day?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. There are sodas for everyone in the lunchroom, if you’d like. I don’t know how long they’re going to keep everyone here.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. I kept my eyes closed tight, but it didn’t help shut out the horrifying picture of Rose strangled in the curtain.
As it turned out, the wait in homeroom wasn’t long. Miss Kellogg told me the police wanted to see me back in the music room. I made the long walk, feeling weary—weary and afraid. The auditorium was still crawling with cops.
I stepped into the music room to find that several kids were already there. Ivy sat at the long table next to Lieutenant Marshall. Her big floppy hat had fallen to one side, revealing the bandage underneath.
Jack sat across from her. His eyes kept darting from side to side, revealing his nervousness. He glanced at me for a moment, then quickly turned away.
Manny sat two chairs down from Ivy. He sprawled on the chair, put both shoes up on the table, acting casual.
Keith stood against the wall, hands in his jeans pockets. He nodded at me as I came into the room.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned, surprised to see my sister entering the room. “Heather? You’re here?” I blurted out.
She shrugged. I couldn’t read her expression. Her top was too small for her. It made her stomach look like she had a watermelon under her blouse.
I scolded myself for thinking that. But you can’t control your thoughts, especially in tense, frightening situations.
Raap was watching me. I could tell he wanted me to take the seat next to him. But I stepped next to Keith and leaned against the wall beside him.
Heather plopped down in a chair at the far end of the table. She fiddled with her hair but seemed perfectly calm.
Keith was sweating and his face was pink. Standing next to him, I could feel the heat coming off his body. I guessed that the two cops had questioned him pretty hard.
I knew that Keith didn’t like a lot of questions thrown at him. He panicked at tests, too, and sometimes had to take them over again.
He was gazing straight ahead, breathing a little hard. It gave me a chance to study him. What had he told them? Did he know anything about Rose’s death? Jeremy? Ivy’s acid attack?
“I think we have the whole group together,” Raap said, his eyes still on me. “Have we left anyone out?”
No one answered.
“We are determined to solve this right away,” he continued. “We have been gathering DNA evidence on the stage. Lieutenant Marshall and I have talked to you all. And we have—”
“But have any of you thought of anything else that could be helpful?” Marshall interrupted. “Anything at all? Something you heard. Something you saw. A rumor. Gossip of any kind.”
“Poppy was the last one to visit me at my house,” Ivy said. She didn’t turn around. She kept her back to me. “No one else could have put the acid in my shampoo bottle.”
“We talked about this,” Raap said, sounding impatient. “We already said what if someone sneaked into your house and you didn’t know it, Ivy.”
A picture flashed into my mind. “Oh, wow,” I murmured.
“Poppy, what is it?” Marshall asked.
“Oh, wow. I just thought of something.” I glanced at Jack. He was tapping his fingers on the table. He didn’t look at me but kept his gaze on the table.
“Tell us,” Marshall urged.
I hesitated. It was hard to talk about someone when they were right in the room with you. And . . . how dangerous was Jack? Would he attack me if I told what I’d seen?
“Come on, Poppy,” Raap said, motioning for me to hurry up. “What is it? What were you going to tell us?”
I kept my eyes on Jack. His lips tightened and he glared at me, warning me. But I didn’t care. It was too late to be scared. Too many people were dead or ruined.
“I saw Jack running from the stage,” I said. “Just before the curtain was pulled. He must have been backstage. And I saw him run down the stairs and out the side door of the auditorium.”
I got all that out in a single breath. And I watched Jack the whole time I was talking. Watched his face grow tighter and his eyes grow wider. Watched him clench his hands into fists on the tabletop.
I could feel the tension in the room rise. Keith shifted his weight, edged away from me. The two cops turned to Jack. Marshall’s fingers were squeezing the table edge.
All eyes were on Jack because of my accusation.
“What’s the story?” Raap asked him.
Jack cleared his throat. His face was tomato red now. “I . . . was looking for Rose. That’s all. I wanted to tell her to break a leg. I knew it was time for the play to start. But I just wanted to wish her good luck. You know.”
“And did you wish her good luck?” Marshall asked.
Jack scowled at him. “Obviously not. I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t with the other actors in the wings. And she wasn’t in the dressing room.”
He brushed back his hair with a swift motion. His eyes were still wide, as if frightened. “I didn’t find her. So I left the stage and walked out of the auditorium. That’s all. I didn’t run out, like Poppy just said. I walked down the steps and out the door.” He stared at the officers, as if defying them. “That’s all. Really. No more to the story.”
“We’re wasting our time,” Ivy suddenly chimed in. She turned and glanced at me, then quickly turned back to the two cops. “We all know Poppy killed Rose,” she said. “We all know that Poppy hated—”
“Stop!” I screamed. “What are you saying? Are you crazy?” I took a few steps toward Ivy.
Marshall jumped to his feet, his arms stretched out at his sides, ready to stop me if he needed to. “Stop right there, Poppy. Let her finish.”
I stood there, off balance, ready to pounce, breathing hard.
“Did Poppy tell you how much she hates Rose?” Ivy said to the cops. “Did Poppy tell you she swore she’d get revenge on all of us? Did she tell you that?”
Ivy swung around in her chair. Her eyes were wild and her face was tight with anger. The hat slid off her head, and I could see the deep black burn marks poking out from the edge of her bandage.
“Why don’t you just confess, Poppy?” she screamed. “Everyone knows it was you. Why don’t you just tell the truth and end all this?”
I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said breathlessly, my heart pounding, my chest heaving up and down. “Okay. I confess. I did it all.”
49
Poppy Continues
The room filled with shocked gasps. Ivy nearly fell off her chair. The two cops eyed me with new concentration.
“Would you repeat that?” Raap said quietly.
&nbs
p; “Are you confessing to these murders?” his partner demanded.
I nodded. “Yes. I confess.” I let out a sob. “Everyone knows it anyway. I might as well come clean. It will only be a matter of time.” I lowered my head. My shoulders began to tremble.
Marshall jumped to his feet. His body was tense, his arms out from his sides, as if expecting a fight, or expecting me to run. “Poppy, don’t say another word,” he ordered. “I’m going to read you your rights. Officer Raap and I are arresting you for the murders of Jeremy Klavan and Rose Groban.”
I didn’t move from where I was standing. I raised my hands to make it easier for him. I kept my head lowered in surrender. I avoided the eyes of the others in the room.
Marshall strode toward me. Raap was on his feet now, his expression solemn, standing a few feet behind his partner.
“Wait! Stop!” A voice rang out.
Heather came stumbling toward the two officers.
They turned, startled. The plastic cuffs rattled in Marshall’s hands.
“Stop!” Heather cried. “Poppy is a liar. She’s trying to protect me. She—”
“No, I’m not!” I cried.
“Shut up, Poppy. You’re a liar,” Heather cried. “Don’t try to take the blame. I did it. I did it all. Everything!”
“But, Heather—” I said.
“I did it because I hate you, Poppy, and I hate your friends,” Heather said, her voice hoarse and shrill. She spun around, giving everyone a furious scowl.
“You all treated me like I was invisible. You walked past me and ignored me, and you left me out of everything. I hate you all. I hate you! I hate you!”
She swung her fists in a fury above her head. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to me. “When did you figure out it was me?”
I raised my eyes to her. “It . . . it took me a while,” I stammered. “But I realized you knew about the hornets in Mom’s lab. And you were the only other one who knew about the acid I used in the basement.”
I took a breath. My heart was pounding. “And it was so easy for you to come into my room at any time and take one of my scarves to murder Rose with. And—”
“But, why?” Ivy interrupted. “Heather, why did you kill Rose?”
“Because she had no time for me. She dumped me as soon as she and Jack started making nice to each other. Once Jack was in the picture, I was like a bug she wanted to step on.”
Heather took a step toward Ivy. Marshall moved quickly to block her path. She turned back to me.
“That night you threw my trophy into the wall. I knew there was something wrong with you,” I told her. “But I had no idea . . .”
Everyone screamed as Heather pulled a knife from her pocket. The long blade gleamed as she raised it above her head. “I’m not finished, Poppy. I’m so sorry . . . So sorry.”
She dove forward and plunged the knife deep into my chest.
50
Poppy Narrates
I uttered a groan of pain, shut my eyes, and slid to my back on the floor. I gripped the knife firmly in both hands as I went down.
Screams. Cries. Startled gasps. The ceiling spun above my head.
Keith’s shout rose over the commotion: “Stop this! Stop this! This is crazy! I did it! Not Heather. I did everything.”
Keith grabbed Heather from behind and shoved her away. “You didn’t want to know me! None of you!” he screamed. “I wasn’t good enough for Poppy! I wasn’t good enough for any of you. You didn’t want to know me. No one wanted to know me. No one—”
Marshall made a grab for him. But, his eyes wild, his face bright red, Keith backed out of the cop’s reach. “I wanted to kill you ALL!” he screeched. “You didn’t know me. No one knew me.”
He grabbed his shirt with both hands—and ripped it away. The buttons went flying. He swung his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor.
“Oh no!” I cried. My cry was drowned out by the other wails of surprise in the room.
Keith’s arms and chest . . . They were covered in red cuts and ugly bruises and scabs. I couldn’t see any skin on his shoulders, just deep red cut marks.
“You don’t know me! Do you see? Do you? You don’t know me!” he shrieked.
Marshall wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulled him away.
Raap dropped down beside me, his face filled with concern. “Poppy, are you—”
I sat up and raised the knife above my chest. I pushed the blade in and let it slide out. “It’s the fake knife we use for plays,” I explained to the startled, goggle-eyed cop. “See? The blade slides into the handle?”
I handed the knife to my sister. “Heather, you’re a better actress than I thought you were.”
She grinned and reached both hands down to pull me to my feet. “We’re a good team,” she said. “See? We certainly fooled everyone in the room.”
I slid my arm around her shoulders. “Everyone believed us.”
Raap narrowed his eyes at me. “So you two cooked up that whole act?”
I nodded. “In the hall. Just now. We figured if we confessed, the real culprit wouldn’t be able to just stand by.”
“Stabbing Poppy with the knife was my idea,” Heather said.
I shoved her. “I think you enjoyed that too much.”
Heather laughed. “Well . . . your dying scene was your best yet. Mr. G would be proud.”
Marshall was struggling to get Keith’s shirt back on him as he pulled him out of the room. Raap followed, but turned back to the rest of us. “We’ll need statements from you all,” he said. They disappeared into the hall.
Ivy walked over and wrapped me in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Poppy. So sorry I accused you.”
“It’s okay,” I choked out.
“We all jumped to conclusions,” Manny said, mopping sweat off his forehead.
I kept my arm around Heather’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, “I think we’re cured. I don’t think any of us want to be famous anymore.”
Heather’s eyes flashed. “‘O Romeo, Romeo,’” she burst out. “‘Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’”
I wanted to tell her that was terrible. But then I figured, it could wait till later.
About the Author
R.L. STINE has more than 350 million English language books in print, plus international editions in 32 languages, making him one of the most popular children’s authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written other series, including Fear Street, Rotten School, Mostly Ghostly, The Nightmare Room, and Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and his Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Minnie. Visit him online at www.rlstine.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by R.L. Stine
Dangerous Girls
Dangerous Girls #2: The Taste of Night
Rotten School #1: The Big Blueberry Barf-Off!
Rotten School #2: The Great Smelling Bee
Rotten School #3: The Good, the Bad and the Very Slimy
Rotten School #4: Lose, Team, Lose!
Rotten School #5: Shake, Rattle, and Hurl!
Rotten School #6: The Heinie Prize
Rotten School #7: Dudes, the School Is Haunted!
Rotten School #8: The Teacher from Heck
Rotten School #9: Party Poopers
Rotten School #10: The Rottenest Angel
Rotten School #11: Punk’d and Skunked
Rotten School #12: Battle of the Dum Diddys
Rotten School #13: Got Cake?
Rotten School #14: Night of the Creepy Things
Rotten School #15: Calling All Birdbrains
Rotten School #16: Dumb Clucks
The Haunting Hour
The Haunting Hour TV Tie-in Edition
Nightmare Hour
Nightmare Hour TV Tie-in Edition
The Nightmare Room Thrillogy #1: Fear Games
The Nightmare Room Thrillogy #2: What Scares You the Most?
Th
e Nightmare Room Thrillogy #3: No Survivors
The Nightmare Room #1: Don’t Forget Me!
The Nightmare Room #2: Locker 13
The Nightmare Room #3: My Name Is Evil
The Nightmare Room #4: Liar Liar
The Nightmare Room #5: Dear Diary, I’m Dead
The Nightmare Room #6: They Call Me Creature
The Nightmare Room #7: The Howler
The Nightmare Room #8: Shadow Girl
The Nightmare Room #9: Camp Nowhere
The Nightmare Room #10: Full Moon Halloween
The Nightmare Room #11: Scare School
The Nightmare Room #12: Visitors
Scream and Scream Again!
You May Now Kill the Bride
The Wrong Girl
Drop Dead Gorgeous
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE WRONG GIRL. Copyright © 2018 by Parachute Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art by Justin Erickson
Cover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018945992
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-269428-7
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-269427-0